


This World We Know

by Loverboy (MythicObsessions)



Series: When The World Ends, Will God Go Down With It? [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz - Fandom, Soul Punk - Fandom, patrick stump - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Kid!Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Podfic Welcome, Rough Sex, Soul Mate AU, Yeah I'm ashamed of this fic almost as much as I'm proud of it, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicObsessions/pseuds/Loverboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t- I don’t think we’re ready for that…” Pete said, and his voice was shaking and Patrick felt so horrible about this and kind of like he wanted to puke again. “It’s still early, right? Early enough just to take a pill and be done?”<br/>“Pete! This is our fucking child we’re talking about. I’m not about to just-” Patrick boggled at Pete for a moment, shook his head. “I’m not about to just get rid of our child.”<br/>“We-” Pete gave Patrick this sad little look, “We’re not ready. I’m not ready. I can’t do this.”<br/>“T-then…” Patrick hated himself. “Then I’ll do it on my fucking own.”</p><p>(Or the one where Patrick gets pregnant and Pete isn't ready so Patrick sets off to raise his kid on his own, but not alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This World We Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letssendacountrysomecupcakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letssendacountrysomecupcakes/gifts).



> Mostly unbeta'd but there was editing from a little dude on google who had an eerily similar name to me, Ohwowisthatcoffee. Thank you for your work <3 You saved me there and I hope we can work together again  
> I'm like... creepily proud of this. I mean, it started kind of like a joke in a chat group, Mpreg soul mates AU with angst. This is the longest fic I've ever posted and it's by far my favorite yet. I actually kind of like knowing I did this one, unlike the others.  
> Special thanks to Jenna because I swear I'd be long past dead right now instead of posting this fic if it weren't for you. You're my puppy.

 

The phone rang out, the beginning of “Baby Got Back” playing through. _Oh my god_ but instead of _Becky_ it says _Patrick_ in Pete’s annoying imitation of the girls from the music video, the result of leaving his phone with his boyfriend too many times.   
 It was set on the table in the kitchen, Patrick sighed. It was too far.  He stayed leaned over the sink, the latex of his gloves seeming to do nothing, his hands feeling wet anyway, as he brushed the bleach covered comb through his hair.   
The ringtone played another six times before Patrick rinsed the chemicals out of his once pale strawberry hair and the tone played two more times before Patrick could pull his eyes away from the blond stranger that looked back at him in the mirror.  
When Patrick walked into the kitchen he didn’t bother answering the new call coming through. _Oh My God Patrick._ He just clicked the button on the side of the phone, held it down until the screen flashed from Pete’s face to blackness.  
He had a smile on his face that felt almost foreign but somehow perfect. This was his cleansing and he wasn’t going to answer Pete’s calls tonight.  
     The suit was designed for him, the color a deep blue and it clung to him like a second skin, flaunting a body that Patrick wasn’t used too. A body stretched but fond.  
He kissed Weston’s forehead and smiled when his son looked up at him and did that adorable giggly smile, wiggling back on the couch and spared Madelyn, the babysitter, a nod of thanks.   
  Patrick glanced at the mirror after he fixed the tie, left the apartment, tugging at a lock of his hair forward between his thumb and index finger.  
  
He got the warranted stares, smiled politely at anyone whose eyes lingered longer than was okay to ignore.   
The bond buzzed with jealousy as eyes roved over him. A repeating chorus of _mine mine mine_ like white noise behind his eyes.  
His phone was still settled in his kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 Like most interviewers, this one had no sense of privacy.

“So…” The man, who had introduced himself as Jason, said. “You and Pete?”

Patrick tilted his head, blinked when his hair fell into his face and it wasn’t the right color. 

“What about us?” Patrick asked.

“Since your band broke up, people have been talking about it a lot.” Jason said, Patrick cringed a little at the bluntness. “So why’d you guys break up?”

“We really didn’t.” Patrick laughed awkwardly. “Just taking a break.”

“Oh c’mon, Patrick.” Jason pried. “We all know that’s just a nice way of breaking up.”

Patrick frowned, holded his hands in his lap.

“We didn’t-” 

“Was it because you and Pete broke up?” Jason asked, completely cutting over Patrick. “I bet it’d be awkward being in a band with your ex.”

 _Okay, Patrick breathe._

“It’s a break” Patrick grit out. “We needed a break.”

And Patrick never lied during interviews and he never would. Him and Pete didn’t break up, him and Pete need time but maybe that was part of the  
problem. 

“Whatever, dude.” Jason said, obviously playing along and Patrick saw him wink at the camera.   
  
Patrick sang exceptionally bitter that night with the help of a stinging anger that made his skin crawl. A stinging anger that wasn’t his. 

 

* * *

 

“You don’t answer my calls.” Pete said over the phone after Patrick got home, Patrick sighed, shrugged off his jacket and held the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he hung up the coat. He smiled at Madelyn, and took West from her arms.   
  
“I know.” He said, not about to apologize. “Did you sleep?”   
  
“I didn’t. Couldn’t sleep without you.” The connection went fuzzy like Pete sighed into the microphone. “Miss you, ‘trick.”   
  
“Miss you too.” He did but Patrick wasn’t going to go home, not yet. He needed this and so did his son. “You know, your sleeping pills are in the downstairs bathroom cabinet, right?   
  
“Yeah, I know.”   
Patrick smiled a little at West, whose head was tucked against his shoulder. He fumbled as a rush of emotions hit him. Love, desire, sorrow, regret.   
  
“Stop that.” Patrick sighed, his smile fading. “Stop doing that to me, it’s not fair.”   
  
“Sorry.” The emotions resided slowly, a sad emptiness replacing them. “I miss you, come home.”   
  
Patrick shook his head despite the fact that it was useless, Pete couldn’t _see_ him over the phone nor could he through the soul bond.   
  
“You know I can’t yet.”   
The bond shuddered and yet again, emotions flooded Patrick and he had to sit down on a chair in the kitchen when he felt a little dizzy.  
  
“Pete.” Patrick snapped. “Stop that.”   
  
“That interviewer thought we broke up…” Pete said into Patrick’s ear, a soft buzz ran up Patrick’s spine with the twist of Pete’s voice and that, _that_ wasn’t the bond.  “Did we?”   
  
Patrick sighed loudly, slumping down in the uncomfortable wooden dining chair.   
  
“No.” He said firmly. “Of course not. We’re soulmates. It’s just a break. A breather. ”   
  
“When is it going to be over?” Pete begged. “Please, Patrick, please come home. Please, I want to meet him.”   
  
Patrick sighed. He couldn’t, not yet.

 

* * *

**Years earlier**

Patrick loved Sunday mornings. They always had a feel of complete relaxation, like getting out of bed or getting dressed was over rated. It wasn’t any different this morning, light streamed into Pete and Patrick’s bedroom but it wasn’t a rush to get up and out of the warmth of the bed.  
Patrick smiled fondly when he felt the familiar contented hum over the soul bond, settled a hand over Pete’s where it was hooked on his hip.  
Patrick wiggled back, but was struck with a sudden hit of nausea. His stomach churned and he scrambled out of bed to the little bathroom in the room.   
  
“You okay?” Pete’s worried voice came through the open door, Patrick dry heaved.

    Patrick spent a lot of time in bed for a week, probably the worst flu he’d gotten ever. Even after the worst of the cookie tossing was over, he couldn’t bear being in the room with Pete if he was eating one of his many, usually kind of gross, now horribly disgusting meals. At one point he had walked into the kitchen looking for an apple and Pete had been eating his usual scrambled eggs with ketchup and Patrick had, quite literally, ran from the room.  
It didn’t actually register for about two more weeks, mood swings making him either want to beat the shit out of anyone who so much as looked at him wrong to wanting to break down and cry. It took way too long for him to notice a kind of pattern to it.  
    What really made it click for Patrick was when he went to his bathroom scale to see if his latest dieting was working, it showed a gain in weight that Patrick logically couldn’t place.   
And realization hit with a wave of, oh yay Patrick’s dear friend, sickness and thank god he was in the bathroom.  
And so Patrick set off on the horribly embarrassing journey to the drug store to buy a male pregnancy test. He even got a couple dirty looks like he could possibly be in control of his situation and then Gabe was there.  
Gabe was there and Patrick didn’t remember Gabe working Thursdays but he was there, looking down at the little box in Patrick’s hand and then that stupid, beaming smile broke across his face.   
  
“Expecting?” Gabe asked, grabbing the little box from Patrick’s hand and looking it over before ringing him up.   
  
“I…” Patrick breathed deeply. “I’m trying to figure that out.”   
  
Gabe was still smiling when Patrick left the store.

 

* * *

 

The little pink plus sign mocked Patrick. He had a list of objections. Why him? Why pink? He was a dude, and why was pink gender specific? He’d only known one girl ever that actually liked the color, she was a bitch. He understood the plus sign though. Adding another person to his life. A little person who would be his child. Pete’s child!  
His hand was gripping the edge of the sink too tightly, his knuckles white with the pressure, as he stared at that little mocking plus sign.   
  
"Patrick!” He heard Pete call, tossed the test into the trash and went down stairs, trying hard not to, well, bounce with glee or scream with the weight of this. 

Patrick smiled at Pete when he got down the stairs, one hand on the banister and the other settled over his belly, he couldn’t help it. _Baby!_

“You okay? Throw up again?” Patrick couldn’t stop smiling, even as his hands shook from the fucking terror. 

“A little but I want to tell you something.” Patrick was bouncing a little on his heels.   
Pete gave him a look, but wrapped an arm around Patrick’s waist and lifted him down the last two stairs, Patrick laughing into Pete’s neck. 

“Good news or bad news?” Pete asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.   
Patrick leaned forward, pressed a kiss to that smile.

“It’s news.” Patrick shrugged a little but he couldn’t contain his excitement.  
Pete raised an eyebrow, leaned forward and kissed Patrick for real, his hand reaching to Patrick’s cheek.   
Patrick blinked a little after Pete pulled away. 

“What was that for?” He asked, blush high and smile big. 

“It’s been forever since we’ve actually kissed.” Pete said, smirked at Patrick. 

Patrick frowned. “Sorry, been a little, uh…”   
Pete tugged at Patrick’s waist until Patrick stumbled forward, his face getting pressed up against Pete’s shoulder. And then Pete was rocking, gently back and forth. 

“Missed you, baby.” Pete purred and Patrick shivered, trying not to laugh or fall over, his knees were a little weak.

“I’ve been here.” Patrick huffed, hooking his arms around Pete’s neck and swaying a little with him. “I slept in your bed last night.”

“Our bed.” Pete corrected. “But you wanted to tell me something.”

“Uh.. yeah.” Patrick shook himself a little, leaned back into Pete’s arms a bit.

He breathed deeply, closed his eyes. “So you remember how I’ve kind of been down in the dumps lately?”  
Pete nodded, obviously not understanding why this was important.

“And you know how sensitive I’ve been to food and smells?” Patrick went on.

Pete nodded but looked hesitant for a moment.

“So… as it turns out…” Patrick took another deep breath.

“I’mpregnantandIknowwenevertalkedaboutitbutit’llbe-” He breathed out too fast, coughed a little and he felt Pete’s grip on his waist falter.

“What?” Pete asked when Patrick’s breath returned.

“I-I’m pregnant and I know we…” Patrick stopped as he saw Pete’s face change from confusion to disbelief and then to, what? Anger? “I know we haven’t really talked about the whole, uh, family thing… but this is good...Right?”  
His voice wavered and pitched up with uncertainty. He felt way less sure this was a good thing right now. 

“You- You’re pregnant?” Pete asked, and his voice cracked a little and then he was pulling away and Patrick felt cold and off balanced.   
He stumbled back a bit and Pete was there before he fell, his hand over Patrick’s ribs to keep him up.  
“I don’t- I don’t think we’re ready for that…” Pete said, and his voice was shaking and Patrick felt so horrible about this and kind of like he wanted to puke again. “It’s still early, right? Early enough just to take a pill and be done?”   
  
“Pete! This is our fucking child we’re talking about. I’m not about to just-” Patrick boggled at Pete for a moment, shook his head. “I’m not about to just get _rid_ of our child.”   
  
“We-” Pete gave Patrick this sad little look, “We’re not ready. _I’m_ not ready. I can’t do this.”   
  
“T-then…” Patrick hated himself. “Then I’ll do it on my fucking own.”   
  
He turned, hand falling to the banister again as he tracted up the stairs.   
Half way up he was in tears, his hand over his stomach and bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want it to be like this but… but if it had to be Patrick would do it. This was one thing he wasn’t going to fuck up.

 

* * *

 

**Present**

Weston was a comforting weight on his hip, even if at that point Patrick’s whole body ached. He had to continuously shift the sleeping one year old from side one to the other so he could just give himself a tiny break.  
Gabe watched him from the edge of the kitchen as Patrick stirred the chicken soup he was making. 

“You know I could just hold him while you cook, right?” Gabe said after a while and there was a laugh to it.

Patrick had been a tiny bit clingy to his son and hadn’t actually been willing to leave the boy unless he absolutely had to. He made a face at Gabe.

“It’s fine.” He said, settling the wooden spoon against the pot again so he could shift Weston up a bit. “I can handle it.”

“But you don’t have to. I love the kid.” Gabe huffed. “Let uncle Gabe hold his nephew.”

Patrick made another face but still helped Weston into Gabe’s arms when Gabe came closer.

“It’s weird, I know.” Patrick huffed. “I just love him so much. I actually miss him three minutes after I leave for something. It’s crazy.” 

“You’re just a good dad.” Gabe laughed a little “It’s not weird or crazy. It’s kind of awesome.”

A pleased little smile tugged at Patrick’s lips.  
_  
You are. _ The buzz of the bond ran up his arms and that pleased little smile broke out and he looked over at Gabe. 

“Pete agrees.” He laughed but Gabe frowned.

“About that…” Gabe started and Patrick sighed loudly. “When are you going back? I know you like being here with West and just being on your own in general but West is his son too.”

“I’m not ready.” Patrick said gently, stirring the soup which had started to bubble unpleasantly. “I don’t know. It’s just I’m still kind of recovering? You know how hard it was.”

Gabe nodded as Patrick started pouring the soup into bowls and West finally started to stir from his little nap. Patrick smiled fondly at the boy as he blinked open his eyes, his golden brown eyes.  
West gave a small, precious smile, and Patrick settled two of the bowls on the table. 

“If you can get him to eat the whole bowl, I’ll love you forever.” Patrick mused.

"Forever? Deal.” Gabe laughed, and Patrick watched as he settled West in his high chair and grabbed the tiny blue spill-free bowl.  


* * *

  
One thing Patrick wouldn’t have expected from a child, his child no less, was the deep hatred of getting dressed.  
Each morning was a struggle to get Weston in his favorite, his fucking _favorite_ , onesie. A little button up one with a pretty awesome print of outer space on it.   
West would wiggle, cry, and actually try and bite Patrick when he was buttoning up the onesie in the morning, but then he’d get all smiley and happy when it was over.  
Patrick could probably account that to Pete being his father, but still, it was something Patrick had never expected when he was young and dreaming of a family. He thought maybe his love for covering up would be passed down into his kids. Yeah, that didn’t happen.  
The first time Patrick had taken West to work with him, it was still during recording and mixing for the soul punk album, his and Pete’s bond shook with laughter and fondness as Patrick struggled to get a wriggly baby into a shirt.   
And with each day, which all seemed to go by too-slow but still way too fast for Patrick’s liking, he saw West grow into something more and more like Pete and it was both great and kind of terrifying. He was probably over thinking it, thinking too far into the future, but he seriously didn’t think he could handle his kid going through his teen years like Pete had.   
It didn’t really matter right then, Patrick knew, overthinking got him nowhere and he kind of wished Pete was there to tell him that but he wasn’t and Patrick had to make due until he could swallow his pride and go back to Pete.  
He still didn’t want to.  
And it wasn’t all that different. Each night Pete would call and they’d talk for the hours before Patrick had to, absolutely _had to_ , go to bed if he wanted any energy for the following day. It was never more than talking, despite Patrick’s constantly unsated desire to get off. God, being a parent was so much harder than he thought it would be.  
Patrick would sing Pete to sleep as he sang West to sleep and it wasn’t all that different from when they lived under the same roof aside from the empty side of Patrick’s bed in the morning and that emptiness in his heart that Pete usually filled.   
   Still though, it’d be helpful to have some kind of help during mornings like these.  
Patrick had his shirt half on and a dirty diaper folded into a disgusting square in one hand as West, crying and whining and wiggling as always, fought Patrick’s attempts to clean off the pee that had gotten into his curling brown hair. Patrick really could use some help.  
He startled when two hands came from behind him and managed to steal the little wipe from Patrick’s weakening grip.  
  
“Get dressed.” Gabe said into his ear. “I got this.”

Patrick smiled fondly, hand going up to hold his unbuttoned shirt closed as he ducked away from West and his godfather.

“Thank you.” Patrick said honestly, “thank you so much.”

“William’s here too, we’ll watch him today, okay?” Gabe smiled down at West and Patrick couldn’t help but blush a little. 

“Okay, make sure he eats his-” Gabe cut him off. 

“Yes, I know. Mixed veggies. They’re in the fridge.” Gabe looked at Patrick, smirked. “I know.”

  
Patrick saw William look up as he passed.

“I’m going to go get dressed.” He said, already pulling off the white shirt he had been wearing. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” William said, and Patrick was already halfway to his room when he saw William following.

He tossed his shirt into the corner, a buzz over his skin with a protective tone to it making his movements a little stiff. He wasn’t as uncomfortable being bare chested around people now, since he dropped his own baby fat when he had West. It was unexpected but kind of awesome, how he went into the hospital chubby and baby dumped and left days later with sketch marks, a child in his arms, and around fifty pounds lighter. 

“How’s Wentz?” William asked from the door, ignoring Patrick’s side glance of discomfort.

“He’s okay.” Patrick said, tugging on an old, a little baggy, band shirt and pulling a red sweater over it. 

“Is he coming home soon?” William asked, and Patrick shrugged.

“This isn’t his home.” He said simply.

“Not made up yet?” William asked and Patrick shot him a look that asked, begged, him to shut up.

“We’re fine.” Patrick said stiffly, straightening his sweater and moving to wipe off his glasses. “I should go. I’ll be late.”

Patrick smiled a little at William and walked past him through the door.  
Gabe was standing in the living room with West, who, oddly enough, was giggling and making happy gurgling sounds as Gabe made weird faces at him. 

“I’m going now.” Patrick said, leaned over to kiss West’s forehead. “Be good, baby boy.”  
He kissed West’s cheek and Gabe made a face. 

“You know where the diapers are and he likes that mango juice right now and you-”

“Okay seriously.” Gabe laughed, moving away and bouncing West as his face skewed up from being away from Patrick. “You have a job and I literally know every thing you could tell me.”

 

* * *

 

The tone, Pete’s tone, was starting to get on Patrick’s nerves. It had started halfway through his work day. He only noticed on his breaks from recording, when he was drinking as much water as he could without drowning himself. He was itchy and uncomfortable as was without his baby with him and really, everything was getting on his nerves.  
He didn’t like leaving West and it made him cranky.  
When he finally picked up, Pete was already talking. 

“-stop letting him act like that. He’s not in control on you, Patrick. You’re still mine, okay.” 

Patrick blinked, sipped his water before answering. “What? Who?”

“Bill.” Was Pete’s deadpan reply.

“William? What? What’d he do?” Patrick wanted to laugh. Pete was kind of adorable, in that really annoying way. 

“Flirting with you. That shit wasn’t cool, okay.” Pete said and Patrick blinked in confusion, saw Lupe waving him over, back into the sound proofed room. 

“Pete, I really can’t do this right now…” Patrick sighed. “I’ll call you later.”

“Patrick, wait, don’t-”

Patrick ended the call.  
He also forgot to call Pete back that night.

 

* * *

 

 

William came by more often than not, after they’re little talk, which Patrick thought was a little weird but he wasn’t willing to give up his one constant source of help for anything.  
Pete still called, but he was angrier in each call and yeah, that wasn’t helping anything. 

“I want to see him.” He’d repeat endlessly during their night time calls. “Please let me see him.”

And Patrick was seriously ready to give in. He was getting tired of doing so much work and even with William there to help, it wasn’t easy to be alone.   
It wasn’t so much the physical aspect of raising a mini Pete, but the mental torture of having his son so much like a person he missed so much.   
And it was getting too hard. He missed his soulmate.   
So when Pete asked that night, as Patrick curled towards a pillow and pretended Pete was there, Patrick broke and said okay. 

“But we’re not going to meet up, okay.” Patrick clarified when Pete started babbling excitedly. “We’ll just skype.”

“It’s okay. That’s… that’s good enough for me.” Pete enthused. “it’s good. I want to see him."

Patrick yawned, smiling despite himself. It wasn’t like he had wanted to run off like he had, but he hadn’t been willing to give up West and that future even if Pete wasn’t in on it but now, if Pete could accept that he was, in fact, a father, Patrick wasn’t going to deny him his son. He wasn’t that mean.  
But it didn’t mean he didn’t want a true apology.  And he was stubborn.  
  
“Hey…” Pete voice came, soft and only a little static, through the phone’s speaker. “I love you, you know.” 

“I know.” Patrick said, fondly. “I love you too and nothing’ll change that, okay? I promise.”  

So the next day, Pete called early, and Patrick told him when West would be awake from his nap, made Pete sit through about twenty minutes of him trashing people on the food channel and it felt like he never left. Except that he did, and he had a kid and Pete didn’t want that kid.  
The thought made him shift uncomfortably on his spot on the couch, his laptop settled over his lap and Pete’s voice in his ear.  
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be him and Pete forever and ever, not this distance and awkwardness where it shouldn’t exist. 

“So why West?” Pete asked kind of suddenly. “Like, the name. Why West?”

“It’s Weston. Weston Gabriel Wentz.” Patrick huffed fondly.

The name had felt good when he was sitting in the hospital room, Gabe making cooing sounds at the new baby. He had decided, however silently, that Weston was the name for his son, and that his son, his little baby boy, was going to take Pete’s last name.  
  
“Why Gabriel, though?” Pete laughed a little.

“Well I m-mean…” Patrick stuttered.

When he had signed down West’s name, Gabe had been there, and there wasn’t anyone else and he had just… wrote it down too… It wasn’t a mistake, per se, but kind of an impulse move.

“Gabe didn’t blackmail you, did he?” Pete was still laughing. 

“No, it was kind of…” Patrick shrugged to himself and felt a little darkness seep into his thoughts. “He had been there. Throughout the whole pregnancy Gabe had helped and I felt like he deserved something, I don’t know, it’s stupid, like he kind of had a claim to his name? Just a little.”

Pete went silent, no laughter and the bond shook violently with, what? Not jealousy, something darker, something dangerous. Resentment, maybe. 

“I know I should have talked to you before I-”

“No, it’s okay.” Pete said softly, weakly but with a bite that Patrick knew, deep down, meant Pete was trying not to cry. “I wasn’t there. I should have been, I know. I’m so sorry. I just- I just didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

And when next Patrick blinked his eyes, there was a dampness that meant he _hadn’t_ held back his tears.

“I’m so sorry. I wanted to be there but it felt like I- like I’d fuck it up.” Pete continued and Patrick knew his soulmate was crying because of the shuddering of the bond.  
Like a breath drawn too fast and breaking into a sob on the exhale. Patrick knew that shake too well.

“Pete…” Patrick said weakly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Pete countered and he was right. It wasn’t okay what Pete did.

  
  
West woke up crying. Which, well, wasn’t unusual but it always made Patrick feel uncomfortable, like he did something wrong at some point which was ridiculous, West was young, nightmares happened.  
His laptop had been set up in on the coffee table, Pete already sitting in the call when Patrick came out of West’s bedroom with a silently crying West.  
Pete didn’t say anything as Patrick settled himself on the couch and patted at West’s back, whispered words. _It’s okay, baby. You’re okay._ They were words he had used often enough on Pete himself, and it made him smile at that uncanny trait. West calmed down like Pete would when Patrick whispered mindless comforts.  
When West settled, silent with a gross sticky layer of spit between his face and Patrick’s shoulder, Patrick moved him until he was sitting on his lap and wiped away any nasties on the boy’s face. Pete watched, a smile on his face like something Patrick hadn’t seen often. The same smile that he had had when Patrick first sang for a crowd, the smile he had one when their soulbond awoke. It was a rare treat, and Patrick wasn’t sure why it make him so much more sure about this. So sure it was a good idea.

“Baby,” Patrick said, soft, his mouth pressed fondly to West’s forehead, the smell of baby wipes a gross comfort. “You wanna meet someone important to daddy?”

West looked at Patrick in a way that Patrick took as a yes. He shifted a little, pointed towards the screen and smiled a little when Pete straightened up, smile too big for his face.

“This is daddy’s soulmate.” Patrick said, softly, watching West as he took in Pete’s looks, weighed him up. “This is your other daddy,”

“Two daddy?” West asked and, god, he was sure he’d never stop thinking that was adorable. 

“Two.” Patrick nodded.  

Pete cleared his throat and West’s attention was caught.   
He stared at Pete with wide wondering eyes, put a hand to his mouth to poke at his teeth. 

“Two..” West mumbled, bubbly and kind of sounding like he was about to cry.

“Is daddy gonna to come home?” He looked up at Patrick and god, Patrick’s heart.

He felt Pete’s emotions flood in.  
West was starting to make upset sounds in his throat and Patrick cradled him to his chest, looked up at Pete and said, with so much calm, “Yeah, daddy’s gonna come home.”

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly enough, West isn’t that loud or whiny about Pete after that, something Patrick wouldn’t have expected.  
Even if every night before West passes out, he asks when Pete will be there. Patrick’s barely willing to break the news that Pete won’t be coming to them but them coming to Pete.   
He still had a week's worth of work in L.A. and he really can’t leave until that week’s up. But that doesn’t mean he’s not packed and ready.  
Once he had decided their break, breather, was over, Patrick couldn’t wait to get back to him and that emptiness in his chest seemed to gape open too much for him to bear.  
Patrick’s phone bill was too much one day when he got the mail, Patrick made a stink about it to Pete who hadn’t been off the phone with him for more than six hours since Patrick booked the plane tickets.  
So when Patrick saw his phone beeping that next morning, he expected Pete, and grabbed at his phone, more than half asleep. 

“It’s ass-o'clock in the goddamn morning.” It really was. It was like ten in the morning and it was a saturday, the one day that Gabe took West out early enough that Patrick could actually sleep.

“Is this Patrick Stumph?” A stiff, feminine voice asked and Patrick sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He didn’t know that many women.

“Yes. Who is this?” He mumbled. 

“This is Nancy calling from Mercy Hospital in Chicago for a Pete Wentz.” She said, and that’s when Patrick notices that aching throb of the soul bond.  
He must have slept too hard to notice.

“What happened?” He asked, already out of his bed and tugging on clothes haphazardly, tripping over a stuffed t-rex and almost killing himself. “Fuck. Fuck, oww.”

“There was an accident and..- The woman, Nancy, seemed unfazed by his loud cursing. There’s a sound of ruffling paper. “It says here that your Mister Wentz’ emergency contact.”

Patrick tripped another three times getting to his laptop in his kitchen, opening it too fast.

“Is he okay?” He asked, and his heart is literally going to break his ribs at this point and the bond’s constant thump thump wasn’t helping.

“He’s in surgery right now.” Nancy informed him. 

Patrick breathed deeply, checking the flights for Chicago and, thank god, there’s a flight leaving in half an hour and he can get there if he speeds a little.

“Okay, thank you.” He said, his throat feeling dry and sticky. “I’ll be there soon.”

 

  
“I don’t know.” Patrick said again into the phone.

“What even happened? Did he fucking try and com-” 

Patrick cut Gabe off.

“I fucking dare you to finish that sentence.” He hissed into the microphone piece.

Gabe went quiet.

“Besides, I’m not that heavy a sleeper, an accident I could maybe miss, but suicide? No fucking way.” Patrick bit out. “I’d fucking feel that.”

“Well you should have felt this…” Gabe said, reasonably. 

Patrick’s clenched his bag tighter, his hands aching a little.

“Just...can you watch West?” Patrick pleaded. “Just...Please?”

“Of course, Patrick.” Gabe said and Patrick breathed out a heavily sigh of relief. “Of course I’ll fucking watch West. Just call me when you land, okay? I want to know what happened.

 

* * *

  
As it turned out, Pete wasn’t dying. But Patrick was pretty sure he’d of been better off dead at this point.   
His hands gripped his hip bones, something he was actually kind of proud to walk out of a pregnancy with so gracefully defined, and his breaths were coming short. 

“What the fuck.” Patrick hissed when he walked into the recovery room. 

Pete was hooked into a fucking army of machinery and Patrick noticed, with a moment of complete and utter horror, that his chest has completely covered in gauze. 

“What the fuck…” He said, softer, as he kneeled down by the bed, set his head on Pete’s hand.

Pete wasn’t actually awake, the nurse had actually tried to keep Patrick away but Patrick thought that the nurse hadn’t had much practice with short, worried, single dad’s that were still running kind of hot on their pregnancy high.   
Pete’s hand twitched a little, warm and Patrick wanted to cry when he realized he hadn’t expected it to be anything but ice cold.   
He stayed there for hours, maybe. He knew he slept a little because he woke up at one point when a doctor came in to check up on Pete. But he didn’t move away from Pete’s hand, kept his cheek firmly placed over the warmth of it, and focused all of his mind on the nearly silent bond.  
It had basically shut down by the time he landed. Patrick assumed it meant Pete was out of surgery, but it still scared him when it leveled out so quiet and hard to pick up.   
As he was, his knees ached and his stomach was making loud protesting sounds. Even the doctor demanded Patrick, “ _eat something, you’re no use to him dead either_ ”. Patrick thought maybe if Pete died he wouldn’t be able to go on alone, which was so hypocritical it kind of hurt his mind, seeing as he went almost two years without Pete, completely alone in that sense.  
He woke up again when he felt Pete’s hand move, and he looked up to see Pete, gray-scale and chammy, looking down at him with an almost smile on his face. It looked more like a grimace.

“Okay?” Pete asked, Patrick shook his head, settled his cheek back down and made a face when Pete moved his hand away until he settled it on the crown of Patrick’s head.

He blinked tears from his eyes, said “You fucking asshole. You scared me.”

Pete nodded a little but it caused him to cringe and Patrick stood up a little, pressed his elbows into the gross white sheets of the hospital bed and held Pete’s hand between both of his,

“What happened?” Patrick asked, but it made him feel like that much more of a shitty soulmate.  
He should already have known what happened. 

“Late night drive.” Pete mumbled blearily. “Didn’t see the other person.”

Patrick nodded a little, mouth pressed to a thin line to stop himself from calling Pete an idiot.   
He’s pretty sure Pete knew it anyway.   
Pete seemed to shake himself. 

“Where’s Weston?” Pete asked, sudden as always. “You didn’t bring him in the hospital, right?”

“‘course not.” Patrick mumbled. “Can’t take him into hospitals, ‘s too young. No, he’s with Gabe in L.A.”

“Oh…” Pete seemed to agree to this. “Are you staying?”

“I kind of have to.” Patrick huffed, annoyed. “You almost got yourself killed. I’m staying.”  
Pete nodded, smiling a little.

“Okay.”  


* * *

 

Patrick had only gone hours without seeing his son. A week? Never had he thought he’d do it, even if it was important like this.  
If someone had told him one day he’d leave his one year old son alone for weeks, he’d of laughed in their faces and then probably slapped them.  
But still, Pete stayed in the hospital for six days before the doctor thought he could leave, hesitant or not. And Patrick found himself babying a very annoying, very whiny, Pete Wentz in a house he hadn’t been in for way too long.  
It was kind of surreal.  The house was the same. The bed was the same. Pete’s office was the same mess of paper and ugly, ugly green painted walls.   
Things in the kitchen had changed a bit. The dishes switched cabinets, utensils were in different drawers and Patrick had to fumble around to find the pots to make any sort of food.  
The fridge was a barren wasteland, Patrick was pretty sure there was a box of take-out in there that had grown feet and eyes.   
So Patrick cleaned when Pete was asleep and that was when he found it.   
Tucked away in the farthest corner of the house was a room where when Patrick lived with Pete, they had kept all of the boxes of stuff they didn’t use but couldn’t give away. Now though, it’s walls were a mix of paintings. Birds flying through the sky, a beautifully, artfully painted sun shining through clouds of silver and orange. It looked like fire almost, all yellows, and purples and reds. And once Patrick understood, saw the little box of toys and the tiny bed with its guard bars, he sat down on the ground in the colorful room.   
He stared up at the ceiling, a painting of stars and the galaxy, and he didn’t cry, but he could feel when Pete woke up.

“When you told me you were pregnant… After you left…” Pete said, not actually startling Patrick. “I wanted to prove I could do it.”

Patrick glanced back at Pete, saw him leaning limply against the door frame in a memory of something he’d seen so often before the break, breather and Pete smiled a little shyly.  
Patrick wiped at his eyes and laughed. He wasn’t sad, but something else. Regret? Not really. He just wished he had known. 

“I had Gerard help and Travie.” Pete said, Patrick didn’t stand up yet. “I had this idea that… that if I could do this, I could convince you to come back to me.”

Patrick nodded a little, his laughter cutting off on a sob.

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered. “I don’t know what to say. I should have come back.”

“No, I think- I think it helped, you know?” Pete said softly, limped into the room and weakly settled beside Patrick on the fluffy orange carpet. “I think it helped get me out of my head. It wasn’t about me… this thing. It was about you and… and our son, you know?”  
Patrick nodded, wiped at the drying tears on his cheeks. “I think he’ll love it.” 

“I hope so.” Pete laughed sharply. “It took the good part of six months.”

Patrick smiled at that, leaned over and kissed Pete’s cheek. 

“He’ll love it.” Patrick said, more certain than ever. “I know he’ll love it.”  


 

“Any more surprises I should know about?” Patrick asked one day as he flipped through channels on Pete’s couch looking all the overused Father he was, complete with black bruises under his eyes in crescent moon shapes.

“Not that I know of.” Pete shrugged from his corner of the couch. “I mean, unless you’re going to cry tears of joy about the new picture in the bathroom, then I don’t think anything will surprise you much.”

“What picture?” Patrick asked, settling the TV on an outdated episode of The Office.

“You didn’t see it?” Pete answered with a question. 

“Well obviously, that’s why I’m asking.” Patrick narrowed his eyes. 

“Go look. Master bedroom bath.”

 

The picture was of Patrick. Patrick in concert. Patrick dressed up in red and black with little shiny devil horns on his head and a pudgy belly that wasn’t pudge at all but a baby dump.  
In the picture, Patrick was smiling over his mic, one hand on his hip and the other tucked under his chin.   
      Patrick had kind of regretted the devil costume for Halloween but this picture highlighted something he hadn’t actually seen that easily in himself. It was a confidence he didn’t actually know he broadcasted. He thought he kept that confidence pretty well hidden as it barely existed.  
    The suit he was wearing that night was loose, unlike most of his newer suits, since he actually liked the color of it and didn’t want it not to be an opinion later in his pregnancy. He wore that same suit for a christmas snow but with a white shirt instead and with a very obvious baby belly.   
     He remembered the interviews that came before and after the show. A young girl, probably in her early twenties, had asked who's the kid was and Patrick had given her a look like _did you really just ask that?_ and answered, trying not to laugh, with, “I thought it was kind of obvious that it was Wentz’.”   
The girl had said some things about something or other and the last question had caught Patrick off guard. 

“How are you and Pete?” She said said, smiling innocently. “Heard things weren’t so good at the homestead.”

Patrick had kind of coughed and patted at his hair, said “It’s okay.” And that was really the first and last time he had lied to someone during an interview.

 

  Patrick joined Pete in the living room smiling. 

“I didn’t even know that was a picture that existed.” Patrick admitted, pushing at Pete’s shoulder until he unfolded himself and stretched out.

Patrick crawled into his lap and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Someone I know sent it to me.” Pete smiled, and Patrick smiled back wider when he felt Pete’s hands grip onto his hips.

He was damn proud of his hips.

Patrick settled his weight down, kissed the other corner of Pete’s mouth.  
This was basically the most physical contact they’d had since Patrick had come to Chicago, and Patrick wasn’t counting all the times he had to physically push Pete to get him back in bed.

“Who?” Patrick asked, rolling his hips a tiny bit, drawing a gasp that pleased Patrick’s heart and soul, his bones. 

“‘Doesn’t really matter.” Pete hummed, leaned in to kiss Patrick but Patrick turned his head so the kiss landed on his cheek instead.

Pete made a face at him and Patrick smiled innocently, rolled his hips again and Pete’s hands flexed where they grabbed him.  
Patrick hooked his arms over Pete’s neck and leaned down onto he could breathe against the skin of his soulmate’s throat. He smirked a little when he felt Pete swallow.  
Usually, Patrick was pretty, well, submissive or kind of lazy in their relationship and he’d only ever acted like this once…  
And that had been by far the greatest sex he’d had ever… and then a few weeks later Patrick told him he was pregnant.  
Patrick rolled his hips again and laughter bubbled out of his throat when he felt Pete’s hard on against his ass.

“Wow, you’re easy.” Patrick remarked, sitting up to grind down a bit. 

“Hey, I haven’t had you in way, way too long.” Pete grumbled, leaned his head against Patrick’s chest as Patrick laughed happy and rocked into Pete.

And Patrick really wasn’t an idiot, he knew that this would be easy. For him, even. It really had been too long.  
The bond sent their emotions back and forth, a loop of _yes yes yes_ that seemed to never end.   
Patrick knew Pete wanted to actually fuck, Patrick wasn’t going to kid himself, he did too but well, that had ended badly the last time they had and Patrick wasn’t all that sure Pete even had condoms, and Patrick was going to _make_ him wear a condom when they do this for real.  
Unless…  
Patrick shook himself, curled towards Pete and kissed him for real, licking contentedly into his mouth and setting a rhythm with his rocking.    
It took them both an embarrassingly short time to get off like that. Patrick rolling his ass down over Pete’s hard on and sliding his own over Pete’s toned stomach.  
Patrick, despite his big talk, came first, hiccuping out a surprised moan, and another smoother moan when he felt Pete follow.

 

* * *

 

“It’s okay,” Patrick soothed over the phone, leaning over the kitchen island. “You’ll see us soon, baby boy.”

West continued to sob on the other end.  
Patrick sighed, shifted his weight from one foot to another, as he tried not to just go buy a ticket and get his baby back.   
Pete’s hands settled on his low back, pushing him into the island a little harder and Patrick glanced at him over his shoulder. 

“Promise.” West whined over the connection and Patrick’s heart ached. 

Patrick nodded even though only Pete was there to see.

“Yes, baby. I promise.” He enthused. “I’d never leave you forever, baby. Soon. Another couple of days, I promise.”

Pete leaned over him, and his hands gripped at Patrick’s waist, tight and dangerous almost, Patrick tried not to push back or moan when Pete’s mouth licks the exposed skin of his neck.

“West, sweetheart, can you put Gabe on, please?” Patrick tried to keep his voice level as Pete rutting his hips forward against Patrick’s ass.

West made a gurgly noise, Patrick _missed_ that so much, and the phone went staticy.   
Patrick bit his lip and tried so hard not to moan, or beg, he didn’t know really what he’d do. 

“Hello, Trick or Treat.” Gabe’s voice came over the line suddenly and Patrick huffed heavily. 

“Gabe, you have one week.” Patrick struggled to say. “To get my boy back to me.”

“Okay…” Gabe sounded odd. “How are you and Pete?”

Pete slid a hand around to cup Patrick’s cock and he moaned, loud and unpleasant.

“Oh.” Gabe said simply. “That good?”

 

Patrick panted. “I s-suppose.”

“I’m going to hang up now…” Gabe said. “Before I hear too much.”

The call ended with a loud click and Patrick almost dropped his phone with the relief of that, and breathed out a long moan, pushing back against Pete.

“F-fuck.” Patrick shuddered as Pete palmed him through his boxers.

“Can- Can we?” Pete asked against Patrick’s neck, and Patrick was nodding before he could think to say no.

Pete’s hands fumbled to get into Patrick’s boxers, wrapping two fingers around the base of Patrick’s dick in a gentle grip that only made Patrick push forward for more pressure.

“Just-” Patrick broke off with a moan as Pete stroked him. “Just fuck me.”

“Gladly.”

Pete let go of Patrick, hooking fingers into the waistband of the boxer and tugging them down, Patrick shimmied his hips to help and his soulmate made a weak, broken sound from behind him.  
He looked over his shoulder, bent down until he could rest his head on his arms, said “like what you see?” and did it again.  
The bond buzzed with a composition of words. _Mine, yes, fuck yes, beautiful, love you god, please? please? I need._ And Patrick pushed back against Pete, sighed when the bond cut into a simple bump skip pattern, less of a headache.  
  
“C’mon, Petey.” Patrick begged, his pride be fucking damned. “Please?”  
  
Pete ran his hand down the length of Patrick’s back, slid easily down Patrick’s cleft.   
  
“Seriously?” Patrick laughed a little but it was light and breathless. “No teasing.”   
  
Pete leaned over Patrick against and pressed two fingers to Patrick’s mouth.   
  
“Suck.” And yeah, okay, Patrick could roll with this.   
  
The bond jumped when he took the fingers into his mouth, pressed his tongue against them and sucked, like it wasn’t just fingers he had in his mouth.  
He hummed a little, got the digits as wet as he could, he knew without knowing that this was all the slick he was going to get.   
When Pete was satisfied, he pulled his fingers away, Patrick smirked a little at the little _pop_ it made.  
And then Pete’s mouth was sucking bruises on Patrick’s spine and his fingers were teasing over his entrance, feather light and tortuous.  
Patrick’s back arched when he pressed one finger in, gentle but so firm.   
He shifted, pressed back the best he could and moved his arms until he was off the surface of the island.   
  
“Fuck, more.” Patrick panted, moaned loud when Pete pressed in another finger beside the other, the stretch burned for him after so long but it was good. Great.  
  
Who fucking likes breaks anyway? Breaks are for weaklings.   
  
Pete’s mouth slid hotly across Patrick’s back, making Patrick literally weak in the knees.  
  
“I have a question.” Pete whispered against Patrick flesh, making goosebumps spread over the cooling wetness there.  
  
“A-ask it.” Patrick managed, pushed back until Pete finally starting moving his fingers fairly.   
  
‘Where’re your wings?” Pete said, and what follows is a crash in the bond of emotion, love, desire, lust.   
  
“Wha-what?” Patrick moaned out. “What?”   
  
“You’re an angel so where are your wings?”   
  
Patrick choked out laughter filled the room, the almost not there sound of slick skin as Pete pressed hard against Patrick’s prostate.   
  
“Ugh just.” Patrick flattened his hand against the marble of the island top, pressed back. “Can you- just fuck me?”   
  
Pete nodded against Patrick’s back, his lips brushing the bumps of his spine and then his fingers were gone.  
And it was _wrong_ . Too empty, he needed Pete. He needed him like.. yesterday and then there was Pete, blunt heat and love bouncing inside his head.  
  
“Okay.” Pete said, loud after the silence. “Okay, yeah. Relax?”   
  
Patrick nodded absentmindedly, breathed deeply and then Pete was pushing in, all heat and pressure.  
Patrick shuddered and he moaned at the feeling of the bond between them start the feedback loop. A circle of pleasure and it just spiked everything up.   
Pete groaned against Patrick’s back when he bottomed up, nowhere left to go.  
  
“You okay?” Pete asked, and it was so breathless, so fucking sexy, Patrick moaned at the sound.   
  
“Yes, yes,” _yes, yes yes,_ “More, move.”   
  
Pete did.  
Pulling out slowly to push back in just as slow, the feedback heavily and loud, echoing, in Patrick’s body. It made every move that much more, that much better.  
  
“Fuuuuck.” Pete groaned and pulled out again, thrusting home hard and it pushed Patrick forward a little.  
  
Patrick arched up, hand flailing until he could wrap it around the back of Pete’s neck and pulled him close.   
Pete set the rhythm, fast, needy and desperate.   
A litany of _fuck, fuck, so good, yes,_ filling the room, bouncing off the walls with the slap slap of skin hitting skin.  
They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to, the bond pulled taut between them made up for their loss of voice.   
Pete’s thrusts started getting erratic, losing rhythm and Patrick could feel him ready to finish, edging at the end and Patrick didn’t want it to be over but it’s inevitable.  
And, without a touch, Patrick rocketed ahead of Pete, coming hot and fast over his stomach, the cabinets on the island and Patrick cried out when he felt the feedback, felt Pete come hot inside him.    
He slumped over, cheek pressing against the cold marble counter top. He’s smiling without actually meaning, and Pete’s weight settled over him is so comforting, he doesn’t want to move.   
And Pete’s not moving either, softening inside him and, ew, gross, his come sliding out and down Patrick’s thighs.  
Fuck, condom...

 

* * *

 

Patrick realized his mistake way, way too late.   
His face pressed against a pillow that smelled so familiar, like home and kind of what he thought the meaning of life might smell like. So basically Pete.   
Pete sank in again, and Patrick wanted it never to stop, what with the way he nudged Patrick’s prostate with each thrust.   
But Patrick also kind of wanted to push Pete away and get him to find a fucking condom. Heat of the moment sex is so annoying. Great, hot and amazing, but annoying because mistakes that this happen.   
But by the time he realized this, Pete is finishing balls deep inside him and he’s diving off the edge after him.   
Fear and worry aside, it was a good way to wake up.

 

* * *

 

  
He counted down the days until he could see West again on his hands. Not that being with Pete again wasn’t amazing, because it really was, even though Pete had managed to forget to buy condoms the last six times he left the house but so did Patrick so he wasn’t really one to talk.  
So far, he had lost count of how many times Pete had fucked him senseless, bare fucking back, and they still had a five days to go.   
And it was like Patrick could deny Pete his pleasures, because he really couldn’t find a reason other than _mistakes happen_ to not get fucked in the ass. He liked getting fucked. Sue him.   
  But it’s one of those lazy sundays again, the ones where getting out of bed or getting dressed is overrated, and Pete’s pressed firm up against his back and Patrick can hear his need in the short huffs of his breathe and the loud buzz from the bond, and could feel the hard line of Pete’s cock over the swell of his ass.  
And he really can’t deny it, so when he pressed back to give Pete the friction he needed, he wasn’t to blame really. He could blame god. Or the devil. They won’t married, was that a sin? Huh.   
Patrick moaned sleepily and Pete was tugging on Patrick until he rolled onto his back and Pete was hovering over him before he could open his eyes.  
And hey, Pete had lube and fingers. Patrick liked that and he gasped like a virgin when Pete pushed two fingers in right off the bat, thrusting and twisting and so perfect.  
The buzz shifted to that happy bump skip of love and lust.  
He moaned, rolled his hips down against Pete’s hand. Moaned louder when his soulmate added a third finger. And then whined when the fingers disappeared.  
He couldn’t help it.  
But Pete was there. 

“So fucking beautiful, ‘trick.” Pete breathed against Patrick’s neck, his hands sliding up Patrick’s legs and pulling them around his waist.

And Patrick is so okay with this, bareback or not, he wanted Pete in him right then.   
So Pete pressed in, slow and gentle and never picked up pace.   
Patrick could tell the difference between fucking and love making. They were two very different things.  
Pete thrust calm and controlled, perfectly angled to hit Patrick’s prostate on every push. A rhythm designed to tear Patrick apart at the seams.   
It stayed slow, Pete’s mouth pressed against Patrick’s ear, whispering sweet nothings that were hardly nothing and so, so sweet.   
Patrick panted softly, the bond a hum over his skin everywhere Pete touched him.

“I love you.” Pete whispered into his ear and with that, combined with the hand wrapping itself tightly around his cock, Patrick came, Pete’s name on his tongue.

It didn’t take long for Pete to follow, filling Patrick up to a point that he felt so stretched but it was so fucking good.

“Love you too.” Patrick mumbled, rubbing his nose against Pete’s cheek.

 

* * *

 

 

With two days left until West and Gabe were to due to come, Pete seemed to realize they hadn’t left the house at all and dragged Patrick to a party.  
An actual goddamned party. Patrick kind of felt old amongst unfamiliar faces, some of which gave him looks like they might recognize him.   
He lost Pete twenty minutes after they got to the party, a tall, lanky Mikeyway swooping in to say hi and then swiftly goodbye taking Patrick’s only companion with nothing more than a sentence. Something to do with Gee and a lots of alcohol.   
And then Patrick was alone.  
That is, until he felt a bump against his arm, turned and came in contact with none other than William Beckett, red shirt, leather jacket.   
Patrick smiled so thankfully and probably collapsed into William’s hug more than what was strictly necessary.  
“What are you doing here, old man.” William teased and Patrick just laughed, hand flailing.

“I got dragged here against my will.” Patrick  shrugged. “Pete insisted.”  
  
“Oh, man. How is he?” William asked, wrapping a hand around Patrick’s forearm to tug him out of the thickest of the crowd. 

“He’s good.” Patrick said, smiling. “He was up and back on his feet a week after he got out of the hospital.”

“I’m glad to hear.” William said, crowding Patrick.

The soul bond jumped uncomfortably in Patrick’s chest and his gaze glinted around the room. He stop dead when he saw Pete standing there, like the parting of the sea, so clear with Gerard and Mikey Way flanking him, and Pete’s stare was intent, predatory.

“How are you?” William asked, and he’d gotten close enough when Patrick was distracted that Patrick could feel his breath on his face.

“Been better.” Patrick shrugged, smiling at William despite the low throbbing that had started up in the bond. “Miss my kid.”

“I’m sure.” William said and pressed uncomfortably close and before Patrick could push him away, tell him to back off, his mouth was connecting with

Patrick’s and Patrick froze.  
He wasn’t sure what to do, he didn’t react mostly, and Pete was making that harder, as the bond broke into agonized, possessive screams.   
It hurt his head, and William pressed impossibly closer, his tongue shoving into Patrick’s mouth with Patrick’s explicit consent.   
And then William’s heat was gone. 

“What the fuck, man!” Mikey was the one yelling, and when Patrick blinked the blurriness from his eyes, he saw Mikey had a grip in William’s shirt and Gerard had his hands firmly grabbing William’s arms from behind him. And William wasn’t even noticing them, staring at Patrick with a hunger Patrick didn’t want.  
The bond kept up it’s loud banging metal and screams, his head felt too full and his body thrummed with sparks that weren’t there because of William’s hands or tongue.   
And his eyes met hot whiskey, and a way more desirable mouth covered his, hands he knew on his neck and cheek, pulling him into the kiss.  
A kiss that his body automatically responded to and his tongue slide against Pete’s.   
Mikey was yelling, Gerard glaring at the back of William’s head.  
And Patrick was on the move again, being tugging and pulled away and into the darkness of a hall.  Door after door, until finally Pete pushed him through one of them.  
_Mine, mine, mine.  
_ Pete’s teeth latched onto Patrick’s neck, and Patrick whined loudly, excited but confused.,   
Pete pulled away, glared at Patrick with an anger Patrick knew wasn’t meant for him. 

“He can’t-” Pete cut himself off, leaning down to lick a stripe up Patrick’s neck before coming back to look Patrick in the eyes. “He can’t _have_ you, you’re _mine._ ” 

Patrick nodded absently, tugged at Pete’s jean fly until Pete reached down to help him get it open.   
Pete went after Patrick’s next, tugging and opening the fly in seconds before he slid down to his knees, tugging Patrick’s jeans and boxers with him.   
Patrick watched with wide eyes as Pete nuzzled into his hip crease, licking and biting. Marking, Patrick’s numb mind supplied him.  
He might have been too loud when Pete suck his hard dick into his mouth, his voice echoing not only through the room but through the bond and it’s deafening, almost painful.  
Pete pulled off with a wet _pop_ and stuck two fingers in Patrick’s face, a look telling him not to question it. And Patrick didn’t, just leaned forward and licked Pete’s finger into his mouth, spreading saliva as heavily as he could as Pete only was going to give him seconds to do it, Patrick knew impatient Pete. Pete was, by nature, impatient. Patrick counted the seconds it took, got to ten before Pete was pulling the digits from his mouth in a grossly sloppy manner that trails drool down Patrick’s chin and then Pete’s falling gracelessly back to his knees, and this time when he sucked Patrick into his mouth he was repeating what Patrick had just done to his fingers and two of those things nudged up between his legs, pressed until he slipped inside.  
Patrick moaned, his head rocking back into the wall behind him and shooting pleasantly numbing pain through his head.

“‘trick.” Pete purred into his skin, stood up and pulled his fingers out, his hand sliding up Patrick’s thighs to lift him up.

“‘trick.” He said again as he guided his cock into Patrick, who clung to Pete for dear life but moaned helplessly. “Mine.”

Patrick nodded as Pete thrust without really giving Patrick time to adjust.   
_Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine._ _  
_ And the feedback loop started spinning, pleasure and more fucking pleasure and Patrick’s head spun with it.  
He came too fast, maybe a minute after Pete had actually started fucking him and Patrick shuddered, almost screamed when Pete filled him up.  
It was fast, dirty and so desperate but it helped clear Patrick’s mind and he settled, panting hard, against the wall behind him, his hands gripping Pete’s shoulder.

“Ow.” Patrick said, way late, reaching up to rub his head.

Pete made a noise, nuzzled his face into Patrick’s neck.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Patrick huffed, fond. 

“I just-” Pete’s voice shook.

“Don’t explain, it’s okay.” Patrick said softly, rubbing the back of his leg against Pete’s side. “But you should pull out.”

Pete made another noise, upset and uncomfortable, said “don’t wanna” into Patrick’s neck and Patrick laughed and then Pete had to pull out because, ow, that had to hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

His first sign was he woke up late on the day West and Gabe were flying out, which was odd, since he was usually an early riser as was, and he was surprised he even slept with that weighing over him. And when he was there, waiting with Pete in the airport parking lot, he was struck with a disgusting nausea and actually had to lean out of the car to breathe even though city air wasn’t the fresh shit that would help him.  
Gabe had given him a look when he handed a sobbing West over, and Patrick assumed he looked a little green in the face. He felt disgusting, thought maybe he might have something and almost handed Gabe back West in fear that he’d get some stomach flu. And then it seemed to completely settle inside of him and he felt warm and content and okay with West in his arms.  
His third and finally sign, was the mood swings and Patrick hadn’t expect this to be familiar. He only had it happen once.   
When he belted Weston into his carseat Gabe was a genius for bringing, it hit him a wave.   
Pete actually stopped the car, pulled over as Patrick felt so fucking much, and he knew Pete felt it too, what with the look on his face.   
Gabe looked between Pete and Patrick’s shocked, scared expressions. 

“What?” He asked, quiet because West had fallen asleep. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” Patrick stopped, turned to stare out the window. “I think we should go to that CVS.”

Pete nodded dumbly and made a totally illegal U-turn.

 

* * *

 

 

“We meet again.” Patrick mumbled, staring down at the little pink plus sign.

Pete glanced over his shoulder and made a weird dying bird sound that made Patrick grip the sink’s counter hard.

“So…” Patrick set the test down, twirled around to see Pete’s face. “I’m pregnant.”  
Pete nodded. 

“And we know we’re ready, right?” Patrick asked, soft and careful. 

“Yeah.” Pete nodded. “We’re ready.”

 

* * *

  
West, predictably, loved the bedroom.   
Though he was adorably confused when Pete and Gerard and a group of several others came and build a new crib in the room.   
And was, predictably, screaming with excitement when Patrick told him that he was going to have a baby brother or sister.   
And now Pete’s sat on the couch, West curled up on his chest while Patrick paced the room, his antsiness almost chronic. His hands gripped his waist, and he circled until his head was dizzy with it.   
His belly pooched out against a blue sweater that had been sizes too big for him when he originally bought it. 

“Calm down.” Pete said, sweetly suggesting. “It’s okay.”

“A girl.” Patrick said for maybe the millionth time that day after the appointment. “Pete. Pete it’s a fucking girl. I don’t know how to-”

“You didn’t know how to raise a baby boy either but West is okay.” Pete cut him off. “It’s okay, Patrick and this time I’m here to help out.”  
Patrick nodded, paced around again and stopped suddenly. 

“Pete.” He said and there was a sweet, sappiness in his voice that made Pete look up to his eyes.   
And yes, they were shiny and brimming with tears.

“A girl.” Patrick breathed and it was happier. “A baby girl.”

 

* * *

 

Pest was lying propped up on their bed, West asleep on his side and Patrick soothed Eden as she threatened to start crying again.

“It’s okay.” He cooed, smiling at her precious face. 

“Sing to her.” Pete said, smirking when Patrick narrowed his eyes at Pete. “It worked for West and I. And I miss you singing, c’mon.”

Patrick coughed, cleared his throat and started humming softly, rocking Eden back and forth with the rhythm.

“Honey is for bees, silly bear…” He sang softly. “Besides, there's jelly beans everywhere..”

Pete smiled wide from the bed.

“Oh shut up.” Patrick huffed. 

Pete kept smiling.  


* * *

 

The End  
  
  
  
Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, share, show you care.  
> I love you all, my little obsessions <3
> 
> PS: I have a prompt/inspiration blog on tumblr  
> http://whennothingmeanssomething.tumblr.com/


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